Cast: Paul Rudd, Rachel Weisz, Gretchen Mol, Frederick Weller
Director: Neil LaBute
Producers: Neil LaBute, Gail Matrux, Philip Steuer, Rachel Weisz
Screenplay: Neil LaBute, based on his play
Cinematography: James L. Carter
Music: Elvis Costello
U.S. Distributor: Focus Features
If Neil LaBute's views about love and human relationships are represented by what appears in his motion pictures, then to call him a cynic would be an understatement. The Shape of Things returns to the same general terrain as In the Company of Men with a twisted love story about manipulation, the loss of innocence, and the brutality of betrayal. What starts out as a talky, modern-day re-interpretation of Pygmalion (Henry Higgins is explicitly mentioned) turns into something heart-wrenchingly bleak. If this is the potential price of opening oneself up to tender feelings, why would anyone bother?
The Shape of Things skims a lot of issues – the nature and importance of art, the value that society places upon the superficiality of physical beauty, and the ease with which one who surrenders to love can be emotionally wrecked. The latter is the aspect most likely to preoccupy viewers as they depart the theater. Don't let the surprisingly light and airy beginning fool you – this film gets very dark before the end credits roll. If you're not prepared to inhale a devastatingly negative view of human nature, this film isn't for you. There is no catharsis worth mentioning.
The story began as a stage play in London, then moved to an off-Broadway theater before making the transformation to the screen. LaBute shepherded The Shape of Things through both of its stage incarnations and in front of the camera. The four actors – Paul Rudd, Rachel Weisz, Gretchen Mol, and Frederick Weller – originated the characters in front of a live audience. If they seem to know the individuals whose skins they inhabit, it shouldn't come as a surprise, since they played them for a year.
Adam (Rudd) is a shy, nerdy college student moonlighting as a museum guard when he first meets Eveyln (Weisz). She's an artist who is about to deface a statue of Zeus as an act of protest. Sparks fly between the two, and they're soon an item. Adam's engaged friends – quiet Jenny (Mol) and domineering Phillip (Weller) – are at a loss to understand the attraction, since Adam and Evelyn are complete opposites. Jenny is wary of Evelyn, but for Phillip, it's hate at first sight. Gradually, as he spends more time with Evelyn, Adam begins to change – he loses weight, turns in his glasses in favor of contacts, gets a haircut, starts wearing hip clothing, and agrees to a nose job. And, in addition to re-shaping his appearance, Evelyn gradually insinuates some of her own ideas and characteristics into Adam's personality. The consequences of this, especially as they involve Jenny and Phillip, are not entirely what Evelyn expects.
To a certain extent, The Shape of Things suffers the hiccups of numerous stage-to-screen adaptations – there's almost no action, and the torrent of dialogue is often a little pretentious and not always engaging. Some scenes are riveting – especially the ones that occur in the film's final third – but there are others that come across as too long or contrived. One key sequence in particular stands out. The point of the dialogue is for Adam and Jenny to confront their long-buried feelings for each other, but they continuously talk around the subject, rather than addressing it directly. The scene could have been shorter and more effective if LaBute hadn't been so enamored with having the characters verbally dance with lines that might work on the stage but fail in a movie.
The Shape of Things is not as complete a motion picture as In the Company of Men, but it's likely to appeal to the same type of audience. A similar world-view is certainly on display. Four solid performances help to overcome some of the film's shortcomings, and LaBute delivers a knockout final punch that will impact even those who see it coming. The Shape of Things is imperfect, but the flaws don't detract much from what is a singularly effective, grim perspective of contemporary romance.
© 2003 James Berardinelli